


Shotgunned

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Americana, Cock Warming, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Forced Piss Drinking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lots of Drugs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Slavery, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, Watersports, credence crying during sex, dark grunge, dirty filthy bad wrong, graves is not a nice person and neither am i apparently, graves shushing during sex, lots of bad stuff, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 22:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10422972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: walking away would have been the right thing to do.but since when has anyone ever done what they should have instead of going after what they want?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [boogeyman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411113) by [brittlelimbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/pseuds/brittlelimbs). 



> this started as a what if after-boogeyman they met again, and snowballed into this nightmarish hellspawn ficlet.  
> written in the style of the original, stream of consciousness and not worrying bout tenses and capitalization

When he opens his eyes, the light sears into them, making him wince and then the throbbing in his temples flares up. How much did he smoke last night? Enough his mouth is like a desert and his stomach aches from emptiness.

Yawning makes his jaw hurt, and heat floods into his cheeks as he realizes why. He didn’t have enough cash for the whole bag, so graves said he could just suck him off, make up the difference. Oh he’d wanted to very very badly, so he’d practically dropped to his knees in the parking lot, until graves had chuckled and opened the back of his car and nudged him inside. There he’d been on his back while the man thrust his thick cock inside his open and willing mouth. He’d not even been high yet, but he floated the second he felt the man’s hand gripping his hair, holding him close, like something precious and tender, even if he tastes a bit stale and smelled like sweat.

He spilled down credence’s throat within a few minutes, and he wondered if maybe, just maybe the man wanted him just as badly as he does.

He still wants more. Wants graves to fuck him raw until he cries. Because he cries so easily when he gets what he wants. Which is never. Almost.

Then the man had lit up, inhaled long and slow, before grabbing credence’s jaw with a firm hand, and holding him close, a mere inch between their lips, as credence swallowed smoke like second communion, the first being graves’ come.

He remembers coughing a lot, again, like a fucking newbie at this all, he wished he hadn’t, but graves is patient, kind, talking him through it, and giving him more smoke when he feels the tickle in his lungs ease. Graves pulls slow and hard on his cock, and makes him spurt in slow arcs of white over the man’s hand, which usually looks enormous on his body, made even less so on his length.

Graves murmurs to him that he’s so big and long and sexy, he should have done porn, he’d buy it, he’s said.

 

Once back home credence lies there in bed for a long while, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if he sees shapes in it sober or he’s still riding a high from the equivalent of a dozen shared breaths of potent smoke.

He doesn’t know.

He can’t drive stick, he can’t drive anything, so when graves appears at the end of the sidewalk offering him a ride home a few days later, he can hardly refuse. The chance to go home at the man’s side instead of riding the awful crowded and smelly bus? He’s _so_ into that. Graves’ car smells like weed, always, and he’s taking a hit as credence buckles his seat belt. He doesn’t even ask if he wants one, he leans over, hand heavy and warm on credence’s neck, and breathes over his lips, making him lick after it, and swallow as much as he can, ending with a kiss.

They go to a park, it’s abandoned and empty because most kids are going home right away, getting their homework done before the weekend, and credence well, he doesn’t care about that if he can taste graves again. He does. Over and over. He kisses him and drinks the smoke down until his eyes cross, and he feels dizzy.

A bad trip.

If he was using LSD.

Graves shushes and soothes him with a hand on his face, caressing his skin, he’s warm, so warm. His eyes close.

 

Hours later, he awakens.

Credence is not at home. He’s not in graves’ car. He’s naked. He feels wet, inside and out, except for his mouth.

So much sensation coursing through him as he tries to focus. Rough scratch like stubble is a wool blanket under him, ever drip drip of water into a sink from a leaky faucet.

Where is he?

Footsteps thump and nearly overwhelm him, as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to be sick, he feels a hand stroke down his bare chest, dragging the blanket away and a clicking tongue.

“Pretty thing, you’re hard again. You missed me.”

Well of course he’s hard, he’s naked in graves’ bed he guesses. He puts his hand atop the man’s on his cock and he arches his back, pressing closer and begging without words, until he realizes he _is_ begging aloud.

“Please please please fuck me”

Graves looks at him as if considering, and then he lifts his free hand, drawing a long breath from a new joint. How many has he gone through since credence passed out? How strong was that shit?

He drowns in his orgasm when it washes over him, taking him by surprise, yanking him back down to earth, and he’s wet up to his neck, feeling graves sliding his hand through it, spreading it further down, putting fingers between his legs where he’s only dreamt of the man touching him. Except he slides in easy. He’s gaping. Did graves fuck him while he was...

The fingers curl against a spot that has him seeing stars, and everything fades away, all he wants is a hit of bliss.

More more more.

“Yes god please.”

“You talk too much. Don’t make me gag you.”

Graves purrs, before his teeth nip along credence’s neck, jolting him again back from the clouds with that hint of pain. More pain follows when two fingers become three piercing his hole, far before he’s really ready, with only a smear of his come to aid the press.

 

* * *

 

 

The boy is writhing around, hands scrabbling for purchase, thrashing and he’s whimpering and crying and graves fights the strong urge to slap him. It would shatter the fragile trust he has, and he’s not interested in a broken toy, not _yet_. He puts a hand to the boy’s mouth gently, and dips two fingers inside,

“Suck em baby. Get em nice and slick so i can make sure my dick goes in easy.”

It had went in real easy when the boy was high as kite, baked out of his mind, and he actually had smiled, and babbled about how graves was the sexiest man he’d ever seen. Getting him undressed after carrying him to the trailer had been the hardest part, after that, simple as pie.

 

He pulls back from the boy’s ass and picks up his joint again, a slow drag, before leaning over and withdrawing his hand, dripping with saliva, replacing it with his lips, urging the boy to breathe deep.

His eyes flutter and his tears stop, as he finally mellows out again. He’s calmer when he’s baked, graves knows. Knows it well. He accepts graves’ dick as much as he can, and when he clenches around it, halting any forward progress, graves sighs, and reaches down to stroke the boy’s spent and soft dick, urging him to relax further, distracting him with so much skin to skin tactile contact he can’t help but shiver and open his mouth, begging for more smoke and by default, a harder fucking.

graves complies, only because he’s desperate, and he needs the boy completely out before he can start driving again, much less put the cuffs on him. He thrusts in and out slowly, an illusion of kindness, watching as credence’s dick hardens again, drooling on his stomach with the still sticky mess from before. He’s gorgeous like that and he’ll be even prettier covered in the stuff.

graves fucks him until he feels his orgasm and then pulls out halfway through coming to ensure there’s some in the boy’s tight ass and some mixed with his own spend on his chest.

In the end, it’s like some kind of obscene paint by numbers art, and graves pets the boy’s face, giving a final hit of smoke with a lingering kiss, before retrieving the cuffs and doing his pants back up. Time to get a move on.

The drive is long and boring and he finds himself wishing the boy was up and alert enough to suck him off while he’s at the wheel, but it would probably be more than a little distracting with that dark head of wavy hair bobbing around on his dick. He contents himself to wait til he has to stop to fill up the tank, and downs a bottle of water quickly, before he goes back to check on his little pet. Still out of it, and looking utterly wrecked. He strokes himself up to full hardness and when he comes that time he aims at the boy’s dick and hole, before pushing inside with a couple fingers, watching how even while asleep credence responds beautifully. He’s perfect. His dick thickens and drips onto his stomach, and when graves mouths at it, tasting himself and the boy, he brings him off just in time to see him wake up and realize what’s happening.

“graves I’m…. ungh.”

graves smirks and pulls back so the boy’s dick can properly spurt onto his own skin, not go down his throat. He hasn’t earned that yet.

He’s almost soaked in come now, and it’s a heady feeling seeing it.

“go back to sleep baby boy.”

He’s not cruel, he gives the boy some sips of water, and coats his palm in some of the mess to let him lick it up, telling him it’ll have to do til he gets home.

 

* * *

 

The room is spinning, and the ground shakes a bit. credence can’t feel anything but soreness in his belly, or is that his ass? definitely that. Moving a hand doesn’t work until he tries the other, and he realizes he’s handcuffed. Unable to move. The pain in his belly tingles down his spine, and he needs to get up, to get to a bathroom or he’s going to be more than soaked in semen.

“Please… help me.”

His voice is a dry rasp, a croak from a dehydrated frog, but graves is nowhere to be seen. His wrists are thin but not as thin as the hard cold metal against his skin. So he waits, tries not to panic, and puts his free hand on his cock, bracing his fingers against the base, gripping as hard as he can. Footsteps have never been a welcoming sound, just a normal occurrence, until now. graves walks in like god, no, the devil, himself, and credence sits up and starts crying.

“What is it _now_? You come down and you’re such a pitiful thing sober.”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh?”

graves eyes his body, dragging his gaze down the length of his filthy disgusting body, about to worsen, and he groans, before reaching over to undo the cuff on him, making credence wince as he’s yanked away, down the tiny hallway of the back of the trailer, shoved into a room with a makeshift toilet and sink and the man stays, braced in the doorway, arms folded, expectant. credence gulps, and turns away, exposing his still leaking and sore ass, palming his cock and trying not to shift from foot to foot, waiting. He doesn’t force it, but it's a near thing, as he feels his cock start to harden from the knowledge he’s being watched, it dribbles slightly onto the seat and he jerks forward at the hand on his shoulder, before the man presses against his back, grinding against his ass.

“Go on baby. Get to it. The sooner you relieve yourself the sooner you can be fucked again, and get hydrated proper.”

credence sighs, and lets it out, only jumping again when a firm hand pushes down on his stomach, fingers sliding through half dried come, and making him gasp in combined pain and relief, as the last of his piss is forced out of him, and he can finally get hard all the way.

“Good boy.”

He doesn’t get a chance to wipe off but he supposes it doesn’t matter the state he’s in, graves pulling him back to the bed only to throw him down on it, curve a hand into his hair, yank him forward, choking him with his cock freed from his jeans.

“No teeth now.”

He’s not an idiot, he won’t bite the hand, or cock, that’s controlling him. graves looks down at him with possessiveness, and maybe frustration, until his eyes roll back and his jaw slacks, as he comes down credence’s throat, not bothering to make a mess of him.

He starts to pull away to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, but graves’ fingers tighten in his hair.

“Ah, ah, ah, Papa’s not done.”

credence widens his eyes, questioning what he’s saying, before he feels another gush of liquid in his mouth, bitter on his tongue. It’s not more semen, it’s urine.

graves is using his mouth like his own personal bathroom. Tears sting his eyes and he tries to swallow best he can without gagging, even soft graves’ cock is still holding his lips obscenely wide, and a bit slides down his chin, leaks onto his thigh.

When it finally ends, and he feels like his throat is scraped raw, bleeding probably, graves moves away at last, and he can breathe through his nose and his mouth. But not only oxygen for long, as he sees graves lighting up, and then reaching for his wrist with the cuffs, before re imprisoning him on the bed post.

“Hold still baby.”

He accepts the smoke gratefully, as he cannot bear another second on earth, not like this, not with this man blackening his soul. His body becomes heavy as his mind drifts off, and he’s staring at the ceiling of the shitty trailer, listening to the miles roll past, as graves is driving him way away away away from his old life. The colors of the sunset don’t register so much as the terracotta walls of the house they’ve stopped outside of, parked in front of. credence is tugged away from the window and uncuffed and walked outside, hurried indoors, in his current state, he’s not for prying eyes. He’s only graves’ and that’s no longer something he really wants. He feels the weight of all his mistakes on his shoulders, even as there’s a very real pressure pushing him down, making him kneel, fingers on his jaw, a cock in between his lips on his tongue, fingers spreading him open, defiling him over and over and over.

 

* * *

 

graves is tired, and he needs to relax himself, so he retrieves the last bag of white he knows he has, and dabs a bit on his tongue and under, before he goes to his pet, and forces his jaw open, so his pet can swallow his dick, then he holds his hand to the boy’s nose with a pinch of powder on his palm for him to snort. It combined with his slowly fading high from the last hit to make him a bit eager, less prone to cry, and graves groaned aloud as the boy sucks him deeper harder going a bit numb from the coke hitting his system.

“Yes yes just like that for me.”

His hands have to hurt in the boy’s hair but he doesn’t give a fuck, as he feels his balls rise up and he’s coming at last, it’s been half an hour, but the drugs blur time like nothing else, and he pulls his pet away, too sensitive to take any more of his pretty pink tongue and red swollen lips on his dick.

The boy whimpers, and he ruts against graves’ thigh, making a mess of his jeans and his boots, in a handful of seconds, without even a hand touching him anywhere remotely pleasurable, unless his pet _likes_ being manhandled and slapped across the face. Oh. thats nice. His cheeks darken and his eyes are bloodshot, but the boy is still a sight for sore eyes.

“Papa please…”

“Shh-hh.”

He swats him again, less power behind the swing, and the boy shudders, hunching upon himself, before dutifully crawling away on all fours, ass swaying temptingly with every step. But graves is tired. Sleep beckons. As his pet curls up at the end of his bed, he collapses on the sheets, and doesn’t even bother undressing. The routine is simple. If he’s not woken up promptly at seven with the boy’s mouth slack on his dick, he’ll spank him and _then_ fuck him dry. He’s never had to do it, because his pet is good, and knows how much it will hurt.

 

Little suckling noises are what stirs him from his dream at first, and then he realizes it's the boy, slurping at his dick like he’s dying of thirst and only graves’ come is going to satiate him. It’s adorable watching him try and get him off without his permission, back arching as hips rub into the bed, probably smearing pre onto the sheets.

“Stop. Come here.”

The boy did, albeit slowly, and graves suspects it's the drugs still working their way out of him, he’s sluggish and sleepy from lack of rest. He knows he’s been caught. The baggie of coke is still on the bedside table, and he knows it’ll just make him jittery, but the boy needs it like he’s come to need weed after being punished.

“Open your mouth.”

He dabs a pinch on the boy’s tongue and makes him swallow it, while dropping another bit on his flat stomach, ordering his pet to sniff it like a good dog, and he did, panting for breath after, with only a hint of tears.

“Now, remember. Don’t move. Papa is going to _use_ your mouth.”

The boy nods and graves pushes him back down so that he can be lowered back onto his dick. Thrusting up against the wet warmth of the boy’s throat is heavenly, and it’s wetter still from tears dripping onto the base of his length, making him almost roll his eyes. Now he’ll definitely need a shower. He won’t be going alone. He shoves his pet back and climbs off the bed to stand at the side, urging the boy close again, so he can properly throat fuck him, and look at how the coke has started to affect him, as well as the use by graves. He’ll never admit it, but he was made for this, made to be owned, and used.

He’s a proper toy and will become a perfect pet. Or he’ll be discarded.

graves strokes a hand through his hair, continuing to piston his hips, dick beginning to pulse down the ribbed channel of the boy’s throat, and he lets his head fall back, bliss washing over him, heightened somewhat by the coke buzzing through him. He moves his hand from the boy’s hair to caress his cheek, the outline of his palm evident from where he slapped him before falling asleep.

“Come on now. Breakfast first. Then bath time.”

The goal is never to make them love him, the goal is merely to keep them in a state of servitude. It’s for him, always him. He thinks that he could feel something, once, but it fades. There was a reason he picked credence out of all the other weedy teens and the ragged cutoff jeans and ugly backpacks.

He’s never seen such a pretty crier, and he hates tears from his pets. He still does, but at least the boy is still alluring while disobeying him, when its time, while he’s being bent over the kitchen counter, fucked ragged and raw and bloody. The shower helps calm him down from that. He’d kept silent until he’d seen graves cooking himself bacon and eggs, and let out a whimper at the smell of the food. He would get fed when graves said he could.

Begging for scraps at his table was rude. So he’d finished eating, and let the boy stew in his own fear, before he pulled him to his feet, eyeing the way his long cock bobbed against his concave stomach, the coke manipulating him.

graves wondered if he knew what he was doing, and simply wanted to be punished. His lovely pet had been disobedient three different times that morning already.

graves hoped so. The twisting of his mind would be so much easier if he just leaned towards it instead of fighting it.

“Shhh-hh now, take Papa’s dick, and don’t do that again.”

The boy’s tears were constant now, even with the coke still in his system, and graves was tempted to use them as lube, to sweep them away with his thumb and press it right up the boy’s pert ass, but instead, he spit on him, smacked his cheeks until they glowed pink, and then pushed his dick inside.

It wasn’t easy going until a bit of precum oozed out and even then the second it dried the friction was greater, until the boy keened and a streak of redness emerged. graves sighed, and kept going, ignoring the fact that eventually he would need to take care of the boy’s ass.

He only fucked him until he thought he was ready to come again, then pulled back, letting his dick rest between the boy’s cheeks, panting as he leaned over his lax body and pressed a kiss between trembling shoulder blades.

In the shower, the boy knelt before him, eyes closed and mouth open, accepting his piss mixed with some of the water running down his face, a break from the usual. He withdrew his dick from between the boy’s lips and jerked himself off hard and fast, painting the boy’s face so that it could be washed off instantly.

“See? Papa’s gentle when he wants to be. Get up and turn around.”

He washes his pet better than any dog deserves, and croons at him as he dips a finger, then two, inside his ass to ensure its cleaned and ready for medicine after they’re dried off. He wants a good pliant boy, but he wants him healthy as well. He won’t force it again, not without lube that’s enough. credence shivers and lists into him, but he clicks his tongue and the boy is at his feet again, so that he can apply the ointment and then smack his ass, sending him shuffling down the hall.

He dresses and goes to his office, finding his pet waiting for him, eyes on the floor and expression lax. He needs a hit. Not physical. graves is feeling far too sober himself. He sits in his chair and withdraws his purple weed. The stronger sort. But the coke is almost gone. Time to finish that he supposes. He sniffs a bit, and lights the joint he’s made, inhaling swiftly, and letting it burn into him. The second hit he shares with his pet, watching his jaw go slack, and how his tongue slips out to lick his lips. “Don’t worry. There’s more.”

Another hit, smoke curling and spilling out from his lips, and graves gives in to the urge to kiss him, just for moment, because he misses those nights, the shared trysts in his car, the way the boy would look at him like he’d hung the moon. That had been fragile and never meant to last long, a test, to see how far, how much, how willing he could be.

The boy sniffs the last of the coke, but more will be delivered within the week, and a smear of red appears when he rubs his nose.

“Baby, go slower next time.”

graves wraps a hand around that sharp jaw and tugs him in, not for a kiss, but a taste. The tang of blood and the bits of coke he missed mingle on graves’ tongue. So so so so pretty.

He wants it to last. He wants this to be good. He wants.

His pet kneels again and puts his mouth back on his dick, not licking, not sucking, just holding it there. graves touches the boy’s hair, and watches his eyes flutter closed. He’s happy for now.

 

 


End file.
